Solitude
by Reactor 2
Summary: Sometimes doing the right thing is harder than it should be. Damian Hofstadter comes to realize this as his juggling act between protecting an innocent girl and using his knowledge of a future that now will never be finally crash over his head. Story alternating between OC and Taylor as PoV.
1. Friend 01

Disclaimer: Worm is owned by Wildbow. Some of the dialogue between Emma and Taylor comes from the original source.

I just left behind a rough part of my life, and the last months have been wonderful for me, I came to Ff to read a little and logged in my account, and received a lot of notifications on follows and favorites for this story, and I told to myself, "well, I liked writing about Worm, so why not?" Since last time, I also discovered Grammarly was a thing and created an account on SB, so I will be probably crossposting this there and cleaning it up a bit.

By the way, English is not my first language, this is as much an exercise on my use of it as a recreational activity.

I do not have a beta, so if you just happen to be one…you know, wink wink, nudge nudge. Also, if you aren't interested, but you spot a typo, error or you have a suggestion about how to improve a particular sentence, please feel free to send a PM or leave a review.

About the story:

This is an alt-power! Taylor, featuring an original character that has knowledge of the future of the setting through shard shenanigans, and there is going to be a _locker scene_ , though I'm going to try to be original with it. The perspective will be shared between the OC (original character) and Taylor, usually alternating from chapter to chapter.

Also, I don't plan on following canon step by step, that is, ABB, Leviathan, Coil, S9… but I plan to follow the hard facts stipulated on the setting (WoG doesn't always apply), so if you spot what you think is an error, please tell me.

* * *

 **Friend 01**

"Hey, Damian!," I heard Al calling behind me as he walked towards me, "I'm heading to the park with Ben and Harry, you come?"

I pulled my math notebook out of my locker before closing it, taking a moment to look at the thin, gawky teen that was approaching to me before answering, "Sorry Al." I answered as we walked down the hallway, looking at him with an apologetic smile that I hoped was coming across as intended. "I have to turn in Quinlan's assignment if I want to keep up my notes."

Al snorted and looked at me as if what I had just said was the stupidest thing he had heard in the entire day. "Pfh, seriously dude? 'I have to do my homework if I want to keep my notes' he said with a mocking, whiny tone, that it cracked one or two times was completely intentional, of course.

"Mom has a lot of worries right now, I need to keep doing at least "good" if I want to get the scholarship." Al seemed to relent at that. His mouth closed, and he looked at me with a regretful glaze. My family financial struggles weren't any secret to my circle of friends at school, and even though I tried to not make a big deal out of them, Al and the others were usually very careful not to bring it up while conversing with me.

You could say a lot of things about Alan Matthews; he would even accept most of them, he wasn't the most brilliant, or the most athletic, or even a decent person at times, but he understood what family really meant, and he respected it.

"Okay, I'll pass you that one, but he's too drunk to even notice that you're not there! I mean, half the time he falls asleep in the middle of class, can't you just turn it in tomorrow or something?"

"Yeah, normally. But he got kicked to the couch by his wife again, so he's gonna take it out on us. Ten bucks he's gonna say something like 'this one is gonna count as a forty percent of the year note.'" I smiled, this time I went for a strained one.

"Shit!," He said, his expression contrite, "you sure?"

I tried to grin at him, the expression, like always, felt somehow unnatural, the muscles all around my mouth tensing and contracting in ways that should result familiar by now but simply weren't, even if I liked to think I was improving. "Yeah, tough."

"Oh, fuck you Hofstadter!" he said while trying to shoulder-check me. I dodged and he almost crashed against some random senior girl. Fortunately for both of them, she managed to get out of the way just in time, spending only half a second to direct a spiteful glare in our direction.

"S-sorry!" He called after her, even as we kept walking side by side, stepping into the staircase. I barely hear her muter 'fucking idiots' as she walked away.

He glared at me but said nothing, as we reached the second floor and continued on our way to the third one. I tried to maintain a blank face, which unlike the smile came to me easily enough.

"I'm a fucking mess, ain't I?" He said with a resigned sigh. At this point I was starting to suspect he had forgotten all about his plans to go to the park. I honestly was starting to feel bad for messing with him.

"Well…" I said, finally throwing him a bone.

He Turned to look at me. "...Well?"

" Well, I might have brought a second copy of my work, and I might have forgotten to put my name at the top of the sheet.

"... How much?" A smile for his scowl.

"Well, I did say I would bet ten bucks."

"Damian, I'm like, your best friend in the whole school, are you being serious?"

"When I am not?" I answer while reaching for a folder inside my backpack. I offered it to him, and he took it after a few more seconds of fixing me with a spiteful stare. "Here."

He sighed while scanning over the equations and their answers, "You make business like a fucking Jew man." He said as he fished his wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

I opened my mouth even as I didn't have any idea what I should respond to that. It didn't matter all that much however, as before I could say anything, we were interrupted by a yelp and the sound of someone hitting against metal coming from a few meters down the hall.

Al's wallet rested forgotten in his hand for a moment as we both turned just in time to see what was happening: a black, athletic girl shoving a thin figure against the lockers, it didn't even take two seconds for me to recognize them as Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert.

Well, fuck.

"Man," I heard at my side, the voice was bitter, " that monkey sure is violent, what an idiot."

I turned to Al, his smile had turned into a scowl, he didn't even bother to hide it, I keep quiet, I wasn't going to dignify that comment with an answer, but he took that as agreement, and I didn't correct him.

"I talked to Brian about taking her down, but he says it's more problem than is worth, and even if it wasn't, she has that fixation with the heeb, so it isn't really our problem unless she starts bothering real Americans." The smirk on his face couldn't have been wider as he said that, and I felt a tug in my stomach even as he fished a ten from his wallet and delivered it to me as if nothing had happened

"Sure dude," I said, maintaining my tone light even as I accepted the payment.

I observed how Taylor tried and failed to get out of between Sophia and the lockers, just to get punched in the gut, causing her to drop her notebooks to the floor. I clenched my fists when I heard the snickering all around, but I didn't step in to help her.

Sophia said something that I didn't manage to hear, but judging by the expression on Taylor's face, I was willing to bet it wasn't a kind commentary. Sophia then left Taylor there and walked away. After taking a few seconds to gather her breath, she then crouched to pick up her belongings as quickly as she could, and gave all of the people nearby a defiant stare before walking away swiftly, I included.

I felt bad for her, I wanted to help, but I couldn't, and it was killing me. That Taylor, willing to plant face to Sophia Hess, with her pride and sheer force of spirit, the one that still assisted to the music optative with her mother's flute… that Taylor was never going to trigger, and I knew that Skitter was of too much importance to not have her as an asset, so I had to wait until she was broken to do anything, to see if I could somehow pick up the pieces and put them together again, and meanwhile, I had to see her being shattered.

It's necessary, we need her.

I sighed, then I checked Al in the shoulder, and motioned for him to follow me as I went inside Quinlan's class. trying to get those thoughts away from the front of my mind, they weren't productive, and they certainly wouldn't help save humanity from certain extinction or whatever. He went in after me without any more fuss, which I was grateful for, because I was sure I would have punched him in the face if he had said even one more word.

He was my friend, of course, but that didn't mean he wasn't a racist piece of shit, it only meant that I couldn't blame him completely for it; he was scrawny, somehow on the short side, and in all honesty, not all that much to look at. The only way he wouldn't end up being another victim here at Winslow was if he got an in with someone in the right crow, which in a place as shity as a public High school in Brockton Bay, was, of course, the junior division of the local Nazis.

Not that I was one, but I was "Arian looking" enough that many people thought that, and I had come to an understanding of sorts with Brian, the cabecilla of the local E88 faction. Al had approached me at first thinking I was some kind of big shoot but had learned quickly enough that I mostly kept apart from things, now he stayed because everyone left me alone most of the time, and because of my striking personality, of course.

I took a seat somewhere in the middle of the room and looked towards the door just in time to see an angry, balding man entering and slamming the door shut. As I predicted, Mr. Quinlan was in a terrible mood, and he demanded that we handed our assignments as soon as we entered the classroom, to the dismay of half the students and the smug satisfaction of Al. After that, the class itself wasn't that different from normal: He scribbled some equations on the board behind his desk, told us to solve them, and then sat on his chair with his eyes closed for the next thirty minutes. He dismissed the class early and left with our works under the arm, saying he would count them as an important part of the term's evaluation.

"Man, I swear I have no idea of how do you manage to always know these things." I heard Al telling me as we walked out of the classrom.

"I have my sources," I said, this time going for a smirk. The whole thing with Taylor had left me a sour taste, but the good thing about having my facial expressions on manual all the time was that I didn't have to put all that much effort in hiding my displeasure.

He smiled, "C'mon, dude!, I won't tell anyone, but the intrigue is killing me!" He crashed playfully against my shoulder as I laughed.

I looked at the ceiling of the hall and pretend to consider telling him. The truth is that I had already decided what to do.

I smiled and shrugged, then looked at him, "It's not that interesting you know. You'll probably be disappointed." I said, but he just kept nudging me, so I continued. "Ugh, fine. I pay ten bucks to the janitor every week to tell me what the professors talk about when they are on the teacher's lounge, then is just a matter of thinking how the teachers are gonna take their shit out on us, and selling what I know for profit." Just like that, the smile fell from his face.

"That's it?," He sighed, "You know what? you were right, I'm so disappointed."

I smiled when he dropped the topic altogether, for all that I appreciated the guy, I could not risk telling him the truth, after all, if he discovered that I was a cape, he wouldn't understand why I hadn't joined the Empire.

It wasn't even a complete lie, I actually paid the janitor, but he wasn't the source of all my knowledge, just the cover in case someone decided to investigate why I always seemed so well informed.

"By the way, weren't you heading to the park?" I asked.

He blanched and looked at me with wide eyes before running down the hallway, heading for the stairs.

The rest of the day passed without anything worthy of notice, Al and my other friends had already left when the last bell rang. I slowed my step on the way out, falling behind the crow discretely and quickly climbed the stairs to the third floor once again, then I put a hand over Taylor's locker, trying and failing not to notice the hurtful inscriptions on the metallic door -Piece of shit; Cheap whore; fucking useless; Worm...

Ignore it.

I looked away and activated my power, trying to maintain in the front of my mind why I allowed all this.

Good.

Immediately, an immense, wild stream of information and pain began to cross my brain: dates, names, actions, all in complete and utter chaos. I closed my eyes and steadied my breath, feeling the beginnings of my headache receding.

 _Steel, compartment (Locker/Cenotaph): Touched by Damian Hofstadter (AS[archive]-Host): Investigation; Touched by Andrew Peterson (NS-Janitor): Cleaning; Touched by Stephanie Backer(IS-Student): Incident; Opened by Taylor Hebert (IS- Subject of interest): Extraction of items…_

I cut the flow before it began to feed me useless information and centered in the data of the next day, carefully looking for anything that seemed important. Usually, my power provided information of the past days as well as the following ones, with less and less accuracy the longer they were separated from the present, but a week was narrow enough to obtain a reliable reading and avoid pushing my limits.

 _… Profaned by Sophia Hess (AS[Phaser]-Bitch): Grave robbing…_

That made me pause. I ignored the rest of the data and focused.

 _…Grave robbing, stolen object(s): wood, Instrument, (Flute/memento of Annette Rose Hebert [NS-Deceased])…_

It's in two days, then. I took my hand away from the locker and immediately was stripped of all the information, as if suddenly a valve had been closed, cutting the flux of water.

Ignore it, it's necessary.

I stumbled a little but didn't fell to the ground, which was an improvement, but not really noteworthy in any case. I looked again at the hurtful words carved in the frame and felt my stomach revolt I knew that it was a bad idea, I knew that it would probably come back to bite me in the ass, but maybe, just this once, I could do something for her without fear of the consequences of doing the right thing?...

 _We cannot intervene. Ignore it._

What's the worst that could happen?

 _…Fool._

* * *

Just ignore them, Taylor, you're better than that. I thought to myself as I climbed the stairs to the third floor, going to my locker, not yet five minutes had passed after the end of Mrs. Knott's homeroom class and already they were out for blood.

One of the girls in the corridor slammed against me as she passed by my side, making me stumble, and then whispered some insult or another to my ear before continuing on her merry way. I glared at her back, took a deep breath, straightened my red hoodie, and then kept walking, letting the anger inside me slowly stop seething, knowing that lashing out would do nothing good for me. As always.

I took comfort in the fact that at least it wasn't usual for other people to physically target me when the trio wasn't around for them to get the recognition. That didn't mean it wasn't humiliating, or infuriating, o that I didn't feel the desire to punch her in the face repeatedly. But it meant I could at least get some reprieve from it.

And considering how nobody seemed to care, no matter how nasty or evident it was what they had done to me, a moment to gather my strength was the best I could hope for. I mean, if going to the Principal's office covered in rancid potatoes wasn't enough to make the administration do something, I couldn't let myself hope that something would change any time soon.

But I just had to keep strong, keep going forward. At the end, the bullying wouldn't matter, none of it would matter. Even if Emma had betrayed me, even if the Principal preferred the popular girls and the track star to the insignificant Taylor Hebert, High School wouldn't last forever, and in the meantime, I had my flute, mom's flute, and that would make things okay, at least for today, and then again tomorrow, for as long as I needed, because even if no one else gave a shit about me, Mom got my back.

Feeling a renewed smile on my face, I opened my locker and extended my hand to brush the wooden instrument with the tips of my fingers. There was still another period until music class, but even the feel of it between my fingers would be enough to calm me down.

I felt something inside me crack when I only meet empty air.

* * *

"Give it back," I said, and my voice came out as a dragged whisper.

Emma turned towards me.

"Give what back?" She said, and, to my surprise, she genuinely seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. Even if her bitchy tone masked it pretty well, I knew her well enough to notice when she was lying. I didn't let that fuzzed me, though, if it hadn't been her, then it had been Sophia. Of that at least I was sure.

I took a deep, controlled breath before speaking, thinking long and tender about what I was going to say next. "You guys broke into my locker. You took my flute. It's something my mom left me, something she used, that my dad gave to me so I could remember her. Just…" I trailed off, then continued, "if you've decided you hate me, if I said the wrong thing, or led you to believe something that wasn't true, okay. But don't do that to my mom. She was good to you. Don't disrespect her memory." I was burning with rage inside, and the way my voice came out as a plea almost made me throw up, but I kept looking straight at Emma's eyes.

She meet my gaze with contempt and hate. "If it was so valuable to you, then you shouldn't have brought it," Emma responded coldly.

I didn't answer right away, taken aback by her indifference. "Can you blame me? Since school started, you've been… after me. As if you're trying to make a point or something. Except I don't know what it is."

"The point is that you're a loser."

I grimaced, feeling my eyes moisten with contained tears, the anger completely washed out of me. I simply, couldn't keep it up, "…even if it's just a flute and a memory, maybe I wanted to feel like I had some backup here. I thought you were better than that, screwing with me on that level."

"I guess you're wrong," Emma replied. She let the words sit for a few seconds, then added, "Doesn't look like she's offering you any backup at all."

It took me a moment to process her words, then I met Emma's eyes for a second before staring down at the ground. I mumbled a response. "I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me."

* * *

I got home with my eyes sore and a knot in my stomach. I knew Emma wasn't going to return my mom's flute, her expression had said it all. I couldn't help but felt that her treason had achieved a whole new level today, and just to make things worse, now I was going to have to lie to dad about what happened to the flute. I didn't even know if I still wanted to take music class. Would I even want to get a new flute? Most of my interest on the class was just to keep in touch with mom, but without her flute…

I let out a pained my bag, I retrieved one of my textbooks to get my assignments done. I didn't really feel like doing homework, but I had discovered that the mindless task of searching the responses on the book and then writing them down had a calming, or at least relaxing effect over me, even if later that little comfort too would be attacked when the trio stole it from me tomorrow at school.

I introduced my hand on the bag and frowned as my fingers came in contact with a bunch of… bubble wrap?

I touched the package with trembling hands, feeling the object under the plastic layer, the shape and weight were correct. When did Sophia have time to put it in my backpack?, maybe during PE class?, I reflected about that when other, more preoccupying thought crossed my mind, what had she done to it before putting it in there?

It took a moment, but I finally decided that not knowing was worse than just opening the wrap and seeing it.

Carefully, I undid the wrap and took a look at the wooden instrument. At the first glimpse of it, I let loose the breath I did not know I had been holding. The flute was completely okay, and by its side, there was a little note, careful handwriting in black ink.

 _I overheard Hess and Barnes planning about what to do to your flute. It was disgusting._

 _I don't want any problems, so please don't try to find who I am, but I suppose you can call me in an emergency._

There was a cell phone number written down under that.

I took my flute and pressed it against my chest. crashing on my bed, I felt tears slide down my cheeks, someone cared, maybe not enough to intervene directly, but at least enough to save one of the last memories of mom I had, and that was something that I had long since forgotten how it felt.

That was my first night of restful sleep in a long time.


	2. Friend 02

Improved (hopefully) chapter 2.

Please let me know if there's something wrong or that you think could be improved.

* * *

I sat at the edge of my bed, tense. Phone on hand, I took a deep breath and let my power run wild, but instead of the stream of information that such action would normally provoke, all I got out of it was my head being gently stroked with a sledgehammer, I shut off the flow as fast as I could, but the pain didn't go away immediately.

Cold sweat ran down my back and the urge to throw up invaded me. Him, me, it, the voice in my head that had accompanied me at every waking moment for the past two years had been silent all day and, without him, all my knowledge of the future was gone, I could still felt it, but it was far away and out of reach, difficult to concentrate on. Only the essential of what was supposed to happen tomorrow remained, and the idea of some crucial bit slipping my mind at the only time that it really mattered because of it was frightening.

I looked at the date on the screen of my phone _―19:22-2011-January second―_ , the last Endbringer had been just a month ago, so it couldn't be that. This definitely had something to do with Taylor's trigger, but something like this had never happened before, the only things that gave me total blanks and disrupted my connection with Archive were the Endbringer attacks. I didn't just go completely blind everytime some triggered, so what was different this time?  
I touched my shirt and used my power on it, concentrating on making my mind up about using it tomorrow in school.

 _Fabric, cloth (Shirt): Touched by Damian Hofstadter (AS[archive]-Guest): Investigation; Touched by Damian Hofstadter (AS[archive]-Guest): Use;….Touched by Taylor Hebert (-[-]-Subject of interest):…_

Fuck.

Okay, I needed to calm down and think about this. I took a deep breath and tried to relax, then I used my power once again, this time on more of my clothes and some random items in my room, the tension in my body decreasing slightly with each one.

I could predict Taylor, but the data about her status wasn't visible to me, and my phone just gave me a total blank, the odd thing about that was that it was just my phone, every other thing gave me normal results, and the status of everyone except Taylor was accessible, so I had to be right about the relation with her trigger, but the phone was still a mystery.

Was it just the fact that I had given her my number? If that was it, I couldn't say I regretted it, seeing her every day at school the past year, even with the knowledge that someone got her back (even if reluctantly), was soul-breaking, and it hurt seeing how just a small act of kindness affected so radically her mod for the rest of the period ―the small smiles when she thought no one was seeing her, the defiant glares to Emma and Sophia―, I didn't dare to think just how bad she would be without my interference, and in the end, she was going to trigger at the locker one way or another, so no real damage to the plan... right?

I sighed and closed my eyes laying on my bed, trying and failing to shake off of myself the feeling that I had messed up somehow, then I felt an extra weigh on the bed and a short pair of arms embraced me tightly.

"Ash?" I said to my sister without opening my eyes.

"Mh?"

"What are you doing?"

"Why brother, I'm just hugging an ungrateful dork?"She replied with a mocking tone.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. Her short, dirty blonde hair tied up on a loose ponytail and her green-brown wide eyes filled with mischief. "You're way less funny than you think," I said, but returned the hug with one of my arms nonetheless.

"Are you okay? you seem kinda upset." She said, totally ignoring my commentary. "Did you forget to do your homework for the holidays again or something?"  
I frowned, "Not funny."

Her grip on me tightened "Sorry."

I sighed "…S' okay" It was, I knew she didn't mean it. Unlike me, she was a good person.

I shut my eyes once again without letting go of my sister, I yawned and slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning I pretend to have slept in for half an hour ―I needed to make time until the second period―, and got out of my bed to my already-dressed-for-school sister on the frame of my door, demanding her breakfast.

"Oneft, bwo, wu shud bwe mbowe…" She began with her mouth full of scrambled eggs, then paused for a moment as I stared at her, and then swallowed, "More responsible, that's it, I could have starved to death!" She fixed me with a 'serious' glare, then she took a sip of orange juice without letting her eyes off me, some of the juice slid down the corner of her mouth. Adorkable.

It was a shame that I couldn't appreciate it correctly today, Archive was still out of service, and if I screwed then everything was going to hell… I shook my head when I noticed her giving me a worried look, "Sorry sis, I suppose I was just more out of it than I thought yesterday."

"Of course you were, I almost had to use a crowbar to get out of there!, I tried to wake you up to let me go and all, and you didn't even notice!, next time I'm gonna just kick you out of your bed!"

Lie, she would even let me overslept again. Though she didn't know why, she wasn't stupid, and she'd noticed how overworked I seemed lately. I forced myself to smile at her in gratitude for her concern and ruffled her hair, there was no use on seeming an ungrateful prick. She quickly got her head out of my range of attack, buzzkiller.

"Take care, Ash, tell mom that I left her some food ready on the microwave."

She smiled back, "Will do." Then she took another mouthful of eggs.

* * *

All that remained of my good humor vanished as I made my way up to the third floor, and my heart sank when I heard the muffled voice of Taylor claiming for help between aching moans, because that meant that she had not triggered yet, and by extension, that I still couldn't interfere.

I took the phone out of my pocket and used my power on it, again, it was giving me nothing.

I grimaced, and I was going to try it again when someone bumped into me from behind, making me drop my phone to the ground. I turned around to see whoever it was. A tall, blond boy with a problem of acne and a look of deer in the headlights looked back at me.

It took me a moment to recognize him without the knowledge of Archive, but I couldn't be more surprised when it finally kicked in just who he was: Greg Veder was in front of me.

This wasn't supposed to happen, right?, He hadn't been present for the trigger of Taylor, she had begged for help and no one had responded, of that much I was sure, so why was he here now?.

"Veder?" I asked with wariness evident in my voice. "What are you doing here?"

He flinched and took a step back, almost tripping on the stairs behind him, "Da-Damian!, I- I was just!―" He froze for a moment and gulped audibly, he seemed like he would turn his back on me and run at any moment, but then something changed in his eyes, and, while still hesitant, he steeled himself, and spoke once more.

"I-I'm going to help Taylor." He told me, staring me right in the eyes.  
I arched an eyebrow, and he flinched again. I needed to get him out of there before he interfered with the Trigger.

"Taylor?, is she the one in the locker then?" Smooth, Hofstadter, smooth.  
He straightened, "I don't know what Emma or Hess told you to keep you here, and I don't… I do not want problems with the Empire―" The fuck was he talking about?

"―But… Taylor is a good girl, a-and she doesn't deserve… that" He said looking at the row of lockers on the wall behind me. "And―"  
The world loosed focus before he finished, everything going to black for a moment and then…

I heard my ringtone coming from the ground and Veder was giving me a strange look, then the phone was silent for a moment and started to smoke.

I turned my head to look at the locker, there's no sound coming out of it. I ran to its side, and as I get close, I had to actively try not to cover my nose to maintain both hands-free so I could take the tweezers that I packed yesterday out of my backpack, Greg caught up with me not a second later, looking bemused.

I struggled for a moment with the safe of the door before it finally gave in, and then Taylor was in the ground, surrounded by used tampons and pads, the stench intensified. I grimaced, then looked at her hand and froze. A prepaid phone was melting on her skin and was rapidly covering the totality of her hand. I touched her face gently and discovered that she was freezing.

I turn to look at Greg, who was looking at her with a horrified look of bewilderment. "Call to emergencies!" I told him as I undid my jacket and used it to cover her and her hand.

He didn't wait for a moment before taking out his phone and started pressing keys.

"And Greg."

He stopped to look at me.

"If you tell someone about this," I told him while gesturing at the part of the jacket that was over Taylor's hand, "You're a dead man, clear?"  
His eyes widened slightly, he nodded frantically and then turned to look at his phone once again.

 _You fucked up._ The voice in my head said.


	3. Friend 03

So, this chapter was going to be a __lot__ longer, but yesterday there was an earthquake on my country, so… yeah. Also, this one has way less care on the edition, so please comment on any error you spot.

Thank you for all the reviews, the follows and the favorites!

* * *

 _ _'It's because I've been smiling?'__ I thought grimly as I tried and failed to ignore the pungent smell of the filth and the odd and disturbing sensations crawling through my legs.

A few weeks before winter's break, the bullying had stopped almost altogether, no one had shoved me, or stole things from my locker, or... anything, really. At first I thought it was too good to be true, that __they__ were up to something, and so, I would be ready for the other shoe to drop, but, as days passed by and things keep quiet, with the trio just ignoring me and their claque doing the same, I started to think that Emma had finally got bored of torturing me, or at least that she finally realized that she couldn't break me after I didn't crumble to pieces when she had stolen mom's flute.

 _ _'And now she finally succeeded'.__

I struggled in an attempt to shift myself to a less uncomfortable position, but all I achieved was an intense cramp running through my body and an unforgiving sensation of itching in my legs for the lack of circulation. I whined in pain.

Rationally, I knew that it couldn't be more than a period of classes since they had shoved me in there, given that I had heard the school's bell ringing only once, but it felt like an eternity, my pleads for help having ended way earlier, when I noticed the noise of the crowd on the halls slowly fading, I had tried a few more times, but no one had come to let me out.

No one had bothered to help the poor, nerdy Taylor Hebert, not even Sam…

I stopped that train of thought, shook my head and tried to center myself, "O-okay Hebert, self pi-pity is not going to get you out of here, so think productively, put to use that big head of yours for once." I said to myself, barely a whisper. If I could, I would have wiped my tears off, but as it was, my hands were kind of caught against the bottom wall of my locker, so I let it slide and began to think how to get out, I took a deep breath and tried to even my breaths, it wasn't perfect, but after a few minutes I felt at least a little 'better'.

"G-good, you've got your shit together, now, assess the situation… Uh, I'm st-stuck on my locker, which is… locked, and… uh," I trailed off for a moment, feeling the tears accumulating behind my eyes, " is made of metal?, yeah, that, and metal is… hard, so I can't precisely just open it with force…" but again, this was __Winslow__ , which meant that the safe was probably a cheap and crappy one, __'or can I?'__

I put my hands against the wall of the locker and I thrust myself against the door of the locker with all I had.

"Ugh!" And it didn't work, fuck.

"R-right, back to assessing it is." I huffed after another pained gasp.

"So, my bag is outside in the hall, well, __unless__ they are that much of a lot of bitches and they stole it __a-again__ , and, they kind of are, so… anyways! either way, I don't have access to a-anything!" I tried hard to maintain the desperation that I felt at that moment, 'fake it 'till you make it' and all that, but it was difficult, and I really just felt like crying at that moment, giving up and just let the time pass until the janitor found me or something.

The only thing that kept me going at that point was the knowledge that if I did that, I would be letting won Emma __once more__. And I simply couldn't do that, she had stripped me of my self-esteem, of my grades, she had ripped y family apart as I couldn't bring myself to tell dad what was happening at school ―and how I regretted __that__ at the moment―, and she had drive Sam away from me, the only person in the entire school that had tried to be kind to me, even if only after the trio began to ignore me, my best friend, my only one, reall―

I freeze in place, that wasn't true.

 _ _'But I suppose you can contact me if it is an emergency.'__ An overjoyed smile plastered itself on my face as I remembered the words in the note, "I don't know what is an emergency if this doesn't qualify."

After the incident with mom's flute, I take a part-time job at a small bookstore near my house, just so I could afford a cell phone, nothing fancy, a cheap one, and a 'pay-as-you-go' plan, but it was enough so I could use it on a situation like this. The fact that it only had one number in the contacts section might have been depressing for someone else, but for me, it was a reason to be immensely grateful, that I had someone other than dad who could help me.

I began to struggle once again, this time trying to reach the interior of my bra ―it wasn't as if I had anything else to put in there, and it was a lot more secure than my locker or my backpack― with my hand, it was difficult, but it was my best shot.

"Yes!" I chirped when my hand came in contact with the plastic surface of the phone, and I withdrew it out of my baggy clothes as fast as I could, eager to make the call.

Unfortunately for me, the abrupt movement caused te pain in my legs to resurface with a vengeance, making me stumble, and my hand brushed against the rusty, pointy little hook in which I usually hung my bag, tearing my skin open whit a nasty sound and a burning ache.

"Shit!" I hissed, my phone slipped my grip, hitting against the side of the locker whit an audible 'crack', and falling atop the pile of waste, "No!, f-fuck, __please__ no!" I pleaded to any deity that was listening.

I crouched as much as possible to try and retrieve it before it slid to the bottom of the locker, but it was a difficult task given the reduced space and the intense pain that once again filled my legs. I stretched my arm until it started to hurt, trying my best to just ignore the warm blood running down my hand.

Eventually, though, I managed it, the tips of my fingers made contact with the cell phone, and whit a last tug it finally rested in my hand again. "Got it!" I mumbled with a strained smile, just for my hopes to be finally smashed when I noticed that the back cover and the battery where absent.

I tried to stop the tears, I really tried, but I just couldn't do it, warm, salty drops of water streamed down my face, I didn't let go my grip on the phone a second time as I put my arms around myself in an awkward self-embrace, pressing my warm and sticky had against my shoulder, letting my hoodie damped with blood, resigned to stay alone in there once again, maybe if I was lucky, the loss of blood would make me pass out before long.

And then, I heard him.

"…er?... are you …ing here?"

It was a warm, even voice, completely calm, vaguely familiar, more like someone that I had heard talking on the halls than anything else, I was trying to remember who it was when another voice spoke.

"…amian!, I- I was just..." "…going to help Taylor." …Greg?

In any other moment, the sound of his voice would have been annoying at least, but right there, whit my face soaked in tears, my hand bleeding and the flit on my legs, I could have kissed him if he let me out, and then was that the name he had pronounced hit me.

 _ _Damian__ , I was so fucked.

Damian Hofstadter was the same age as me or Greg, slightly taller than me, and just a little more fit than average, but you could ask almost anyone on the school about him and obtain always the same response.

There was something wrong about him.

It wasn't only that he was Empire, he always seemed calm, his reactions always subdued, and spaced out frequently enough to make Sparky appear normal when compared to him. I had overheard someone talk about having seen him burying a cat near the school, and the rumors about him being a psychopath were something even __I__ , the target of preference for the rumor mill, didn't discard automatically as bullshit. Greg had confided to me that he was terrified of the guy some time ago.

"Taylor?... she the one… locker then?" I flinched a little, if he knew someone was here then that meant…

Then Greg started to talk again. "I don't… what Emma or Hess told you to keep you …ere―"

I stopped paying attention.

Damian was here because of the __trio__? Sophia was __black__!, for fuck's sake!, how had she convinced someone from the __Empire__ to do something for her?, was this some kind of statement?, 'We can fuck you as much as we want and there's nothing you can do, we can get you from everywhere'?

In the end, it didn't matter, with Damian here there was no way that Greg could do anything, they had… they had beaten m…― No!, I __wouldn't__ let them win, not like __this__ , not __here__ , and not __ever!__ A torrent of rage and desperation filled me in a way I had never imagined was possible, and…

[AGREEMENT]

Everything faded to black.

* * *

"…ylor?...hear me? Taylor?" It-it was… dad? when had he came here… __where__ was __'here'__?

"Ugh…" My head felt like someone had opened it and played with the contents using a mixer, my throat felt sore, and my eyes ached like __hell__ when I tried opening them, so I just lied there in the dark, feeling the soft mattress against my skin and muttered a quiet, "D-dad?"

"…s okay, Taylor, I'm going to bring you water and then call a nurse, okay?, your friend is going to be here with you while I return."

Friend?, I didn't have any. I tried to open my eyes again and managed to see dad turning to look to a blonde blur that was sitting next to him, at the side of my bed. Greg? was he talking about Greg? how had he given Damian the slip?

"S' okay, Mr. Hebert, I got her." Said a warm… even voice.

I froze, that wasn't Greg.

* * *

Okay, that is. Hope you liked it!

The next chapter is going to be Taylor again since I didn't finish all I wanted on this one, and also, it's going to be the one where an explanation of her power is given, at least superficially.

Please review!, and don't hesitate to point any grammar error or typo I missed!


	4. Friend 04

Chapter four. I'll try to commit to a weekly update at least, as always, please comment if you spot any typo or error, or if you want to make a suggestion about how I could improve my writing. All criticism is welcome.

Please also note that I revised the former chapters for typos and errors using Grammarly, and that I will possibly revisit them again to see if I can improve them, however, the plot and storyline remain unchanged.

* * *

I tried to move away from him the moment I realized who he was, thinking frantically over ways to get away from him; thankfully, both chairs were on the side of my bed further away from the door, so it should be easy to exit the room and go find dad. I pushed myself to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but my legs felt like jelly in contact whit the ground, and it was only luck that my arm clung to the edge and I didn't fell to the floor altogether, however, as I tried to climb again to the mattress, I found impossible to push myself up.

As I found myself with just enough strength in my arm to keep hanging, I felt two hands grabbing me from my armpits and lifting me up as if I were a rag doll. I tried to struggle or to scream for help, but my throat still was closed and my body still was weak, and I found I was unable to defend myself.

"Easy, Taylor, let me help you up," Damian said in the same monotone he seemed to use for everything, but I just kept trying to struggle, I didn't know what he was doing here, but it couldn't be anything good for me.  
Ignoring my trashing completely, he just placed me over the bed and sat on his chair again. Reaching for all my strength, I tried to push myself up again, but all I accomplished was to almost fall from the bed again.

I looked at him whit fear running through every part of my body. I was alone with a psychopath, unable to move, and his eyes were buried in mine, cold as stone.

"Taylor," He said my name while still meeting my eyes, and I flinched, "I'm not here to cause you any harm, and I understand you don't have any reason to believe me. You don't even know me but-" I wasn't listening to him anymore. I knew who he was. He was the one that had been guarding my looker while I begged and screamed for help, while I felt how blood dripped down my arm, and my hopes that someone would let me out died completely. I couldn't speak, I couldn't convey out loud the thoughts that crossed my mind, but I could glare, and I certainly could at least try to sit straighter, and he might have got the message, as he stopped talking right then.

I did know who he was.

I couldn't talk, but I could gesticulate, and so I did. _'Go fuck yourself.'_

His eyes hardened and he sat straighter in his chair. Suddenly I realized what I had done. I looked back at him full of fear, for a moment, his eyes glazed, an even the smallest hint of humanity left his face. He opened his mouth as if to talk, and I found myself in dread of what his next words would be. Fortunately for me, Dad chose that moment to return with my cup of water, no nurse in sight. Damian closed his mouth and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Dad saw him, and the look I was giving him, and though I doubted he fully understand the situation, he moved to my side and interposed his body between Damian and me instead of sitting back in his place, masquerading the movement as if he was just approaching me to offer me the water, which would have been easier for him.

"Drink slowly, Taylor," Dad said, eyeing Damian as he held the cup near my lips. "small sips or you will spill it."  
I relaxed as he kept an eye on Damian for me and did as he said, drinking painfully small quantities of water, with the first sip being just enough to moisten my lips and make me aware of just how dry my mouth really was.

"Is it everything okay, Damian?" He asked, and it was hard to not heed the slight hostility in his voice. It was somehow comforting to know that dad was there, at least this once.

"Sure, Mr. Hebert," he said, lying directly to dad's face, "though I think maybe Taylor is not all that happy with me right now. It might be better if I just talk to her later." He stood up and walked to the door, but instead of exiting, he stopped and looked back at me.

"I'm truly sorry, Taylor. For what little is worth." He said before stepping out of the room without giving me more than a sidelong glance. I didn't know what he expected to gain with that apology, but he wasn't going to get anything from me.  
Dad and I stayed in silence as he held the cup for me, feeling the adrenaline draining from my body. After a few more sips I depleted the cup and he lowered his arm, taking a seat.

"Better?" he asked as he took his seat once again.

"Yeah," I said after clearing my throat, "uh, thanks dad, for getting Damian out of here."

"He said he was your friend, and the police told me he was the one to make the call, so I let him stay here, but-"

"He made the call?" I interrupted dad, for which he seemed surprised.

"Uh, yes. At least that's what the officer told me when I got here, he was actually waiting in the uh... waiting room, but he had to go when..." He stopped for a moment there, seeming a little uncomfortable, "well, it actually has to do with why the nurse didn't come with me to the room. There's someone who wants to speak with you, he wanted to come with me, but I convinced him to let me come first so you wouldn't faint when you see him." He smiled.  
I didn't know if dad was doing it on purpose, but his slight teasing was making wonders to help me calm down after that whole... thing with Damian. I returned his smile and asked.

"Who is it?"

"Well, he told me he would head in five minutes after me, so probably you will see him any moment now." I looked at him in confusion but he only smiled at me and looked towards the still open door, so I ended imitating him after just a second of doubt.

The timing wasn't perfect, not by a long stretch, but it only was a matter of seconds until I heard the heavy footsteps in the hall, coming closer to my room. Then, I saw him, clad in his iconic blue and grey armor, towering over six feet tall, with his helmet covering the superior half of his face, and a stern, confident line draw for his lips. Standing at the door's frame.

He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him, nodding at dad and then at me. "Mr. Hebert, Ms. Hebert, thank you for letting me see you."

My mouth opened to respond before the rest of me had time to catch up with it, without any idea of what I would actually say, and so, the only thing that exited my lips was an inarticulate "Uh."

Dad chuckled at my side, and Armsmaster lips curled a little upwards before returning to their original positions. I had to run that thought by my head again. Armsmaster, leader of the protectorate and one of my childhood heroes was in front of me and had smiled. I felt the blood rush to my checks and tried to compose myself as best as I could over the mattress, finding to my delight that my extremities seemed to finally have regained some of their strength. Irritation flared inside towards dad for not giving me at least a warning, but it evaporated quickly as Armsmaster neared the side of my bed.

"You're Armsmaster," I said, and then I cursed myself internally again at the stupidity of my statement.

"Indeed." He said simply.

"Uh, sorry, I just-" Just what, Taylor.

"Don't worry, I get that reaction more frequently than you would think." He said, and although I didn't know if that was true or only an attempt to put me at ease, I appreciated it none the less.

I had heard somewhere that Brockton Bay had more capes per capita than almost any city in the States, but it was still hard to believe that one was right in front of me. I knew the Protectorate sometimes did public appearances in the Mall, or at the Boardwalk, but I hadn't really ever thought to go to one of those, and I certainly would never have expected one of the heroes to come to see me.

"Can I?" He asked, pointing at the empty chair next to dad's, this time addressing me directly and I couldn't do anything but nod.  
Instead of sitting, however, he placed a metallic briefcase I hadn't he had over the chair, I eyed it absently and noticed a heavy digital safe in one of the laterals.

"Before anything else, I have to ask, Ms. Hebert, do you know what a trigger event is?" He asked.  
I didn't, so I shocked my head, even as I felt ashamed.

"It's understandable," he continued after I gave my response, "a trigger event isn't something that parahumans like to talk about."  
He turned to the briefcase and introduced a password I didn't catch. After which the case emitted a high pitched noise, and opened to reveal a strange machine. Cubical, jet black, with a lot of different dials in the upper face and what appeared to be cables coming out of it.

"It's also not a fact that the Protectorate or PRT like to advertise." He kept going, even as I eyed warily the strange device "Understandable, really, given how it makes the parahuman populace look in the public eye, but villains outnumber heroes two to one nowadays because of the process in which a person obtains powers. An event so traumatic that awakens the lobule in the brain that grants powers. As a result, individuals with personal problems or an unstable structure of support," was he insulting dad? "are more likely to turn into a parahuman, and so, villains and rouges are far more common than heroes."  
He looked at me again, and this time there wasn't amusement on the visible portion of his face. "As a countermeasure to this, the Protectorate heroes make a point to get in contact whit possible resent triggers whenever the opportunity arises. We order hospitals, refugees, and other similar places send reports to us when they detect something abnormal in the day to day. Do you follow me so far?" I kept still and quiet until I realised his last statement required an answer, the intensity of his voice taking me back.

"Y-yes" I answered after what I felt was a far too long silence.

"Yesterday we received a report from the hospital about a patient who came in with a temperature under ninety-five Fahrenheit, after having been pushed inside a... container of biological waste, covered in blood, and completely unconscious. Yet, when the doctors performed the initial test, you were in perfect health."  
I blinked a few times, he was talking about me?, I wasn't- there was just no way I had turned into a parahuman, and yet he kept his eyes on me as he said that, and he had just explained the mechanics through which a person "triggered". The memories of the locker certainly fit that description.

"The doctors moved you to this section of the hospital to avoid any accident with your powers. As sometimes recent triggers have problems controlling their new abilities."

"I'm a parahuman now?" I couldn't help but ask.

"It is a possibility, Ms. Hebert. The information we have so far is enough to prove there was parahuman intervention was involved in your short recovery time, and so the PRT will be in charge of the subsequent investigation. However, there are no indicators that you are that parahuman as of yet."

"Oh."

"The PRT usually offers a full battery of test for possible parahumans in cases like yours. However, the tests are highly time-consuming, as well as expensive on our end." He then extracted the machine from his case, holding it up in front of me.

"This," he said, "is a NAR. The PRT expects it to have several useful applications and approved it for field tests, one of them is reading the neuronal activity to detect abnormal signals that are common to most people with an active Corona Pollentia, and the presence of a Corona Gemma, the lobes that give powers to parahumans.

The device is actually the first iteration of the concept authorized for use on this kind of test, and so I was tasked with finding voluntaries for it. Your father already filed the necessary forms."

I looked at dad, and felt betrayed when I found him avoiding my gaze.

"The price of the ambulance is too high, Taylor, and while they said they would release you as soon as you were conscious and they had time to check you were okay, we also have to pay for the hospital. The PRT offered to cover all the bills if we acceded to this. You don't have to do it if you don't like it, but this will make a lot easier to sue the school.  
His reasoning didn't make me feel any better, but I could see from where he was coming, and the fact that he talked about a sue against the school for guaranteed helped a little too. All that didn't make my next words sound any less bitter, or his ensuing flinch less painful.

"Is it at least safe?"

"Completely." Annoyingly, Armsmaster replied to my barb in an offhanded way. "This device operates through a series of highly sensible nodes, we'll simply connect some electrodes to your forehead and temples, and then wait for a few minutes.

"Taylor?", Dad addressed me, nervousness filling his voice. I bit my lip and was tempted to say no simply out of spite, but I forced myself to remember this was dad, not the trio, or the school administration. He wanted to help me, even if he wasn't always there for me.

"Sure." Was all I ended up saying.

"We can begin, then," Armsmaster said while placing the electrodes in my head. Then he pressed some buttons and turned some of the dials. The machine emitted some noises.

"Please just relax for a few minutes Ms. Hebert, the machine NAR will begin operation in ten seconds, don't make any brusque movements and kept quiet.  
I was going to nod, or maybe I was about to say that I still had to make a brutal effort to move my limbs in any way that mattered, so he wouldn't have to worry about "brusque movements" but I thought better of it and simply complied.

"Wouldn't her hair interfere with the read?" Asked dad, and I found it more easy to be angry at him. Was he trying to get Armsmaster to shave my head?

"Hardly, even in normal electroencephalographies. The NAR was designed to make his results as accurate as possible without difficulting its use, his passing resemblance to a normal device for an EEG is only for the comfort of the subjects." Armsmaster responded, leaving both dad and me in bemusement.

And what the heck was an EEG?

The following minutes were a lot more boring than what I would have tough for a test that would reveal if I was a Parahuman, and while I was really interested in the results, I simply couldn't bring myself to believe I now had powers. I didn't feel any different, and in fact, I was so weak right now I could barely move. How could I be a cape?

The machine chirped, and Armsmaster kept immobile for a long moment.  
Then, he simply hummed and began disconnecting the electrodes from my head, placing the dispositive back in the case and closing it. After that, he began interacting with a small panel that somehow appeared in his armguard after he pressed one of its panels. I shared a glance with dad, and confirmed that we both had no idea what he was doing.

"So... is Taylor a parahuman?" Dad asked anxiously.

Armsmaster raised his head as if caught by surprise by dad's voice. As if somehow he had forgotten about us once the test had been over. "The results are negative," he finally. "She does have a Corna pollentia, but it seems to be inactive, even though its size seems rather large, but there is no evidence of the brain activity associated with a gemma lobule."

"Uh, okay," I said, taken aback. Was that all? Well, I really didn't have any expectative, so I wasn't surprised, but it did sting a little. "So, uh what happens now?"

Armsmaster then addressed dad "I have to go back to my duties now, but before, I want to remember you that as part of the papers you signed, the PRT will cover all the bills of your stance at the hospital as well as for the ambulance service. All the members of the personnel that have access to this special area of the hospital have signed NDAs concerning your identity, so you don't have to worry about the preservation of your secrecy, en trougth you are actually not a parahuman. You are also not allowed to talk about this test with anyone, not even friends or family members. And as there was parahuman involvement in this incident, the PRT will handle the investigation from here on out. A trooper should come over to take your statement in a while. I will notify a nurse in my way out."

I didn't know what to make out of him, he hadn't been all that personable when he first entered the room, but I was having a hard time not noticing how he was a lot less accommodating with me and dad once he had ascertained I was not a parahuman, and the comment about friends and family touched more than a few nerves. But he had also been nothing but upfront with his intentions from the beginning.

He shook hands with dad, and then offered the same to me. I hesitated for a moment, but in the end, my good manners trumped over my doubts about him, and I returned the gesture.

My hand made contact with his armored one, and then I felt it, at the back of my head, an urge to pull and to make it mine. Then, he retracted his hand, and the sensation was gone.

He lifted his case, and then exited the room.


	5. Friend 05

Chapter five.

Review responses  
Mike: That summary never existed, it was all in your imagination.  
Dirk Digglit: Ouch

This one is shorter than the last, but I preferred to get it out of the way so I could work on the interlude that goes after and closes the first arc of the fic, which hopefully I will publish tomorrow if everything goes okay as it's practically completed.

As always, please leave a review for the chapter, it improves moral as well as quality of writing.

* * *

"I walked in, then went to my locker, and thought I heard something coming from the next floor, so I went up the stairs."

"Then you identified the origin of the noise?" The PRT agent sitting in the chair in front of me asked. It was painfully obvious he wasn't a cop, even if, to give him some credit, I might have fallen for it if I didn't already know he was part of the police from Archive feeding me Armsmaster entering Taylor's room not even ten minutes after I left.

"No, I thought I was hearing a voice, but I didn't know where it was coming from, so I just stood there for a moment trying to discern from where it was coming, then my f...udgin phone began to ring, I got it out of my pocket, and then it began to smoke, I thought it could explode, so I threw it to the floor -and before you ask, no idea what was that about-, and then I heard the noise- the voice cutting off. I walked down the corridor and noticed the smell coming from one of the lockers, I realized Taylor must be inside, so I opened it-"

"You opened it with the pair of tweezers you always carry inside your backpack?" He asked.  
I crossed my arms over my chest. The PRT at least had the decency to lend me some clothes, so I had abandoned my blood-stained t-shirt in favor of a nicely clean, if somewhat boring, grey one.

"Well, yeah, Winslow is a piece of crap, some students bring butterfly knives or pocket blades, but if they get kidnapped for a gang or something and thrown inside a warehouse, good luck getting out of there. I said, schooling my expression.

"Ah." He simply said, as if what I had just said made any sense, "well then. Continue please."

"Well, she nearly fell to the ground, but I managed to catch her, thanks god or she might've got a concusion on top of everything else." I paused, remembering just how fragile and broken Taylor looked at that moment. All for nothing, as it seemed it had been. "She seemed pale, paler than usual, I mean; her skin was cold too, unhealthy so. I covered her with my jacket and then called you guys from my second phone."

"The phone you have just in case you get mugged?" He learned fast, it was just the second time we went over it.

"Yeah."

He shifted in his seat and went over his notes. I observed him, looking for any hint he might be not believing me. He was a tall man, in his late twenties or early thirties, and with a small, if noticeable belly under his shirt. A paper pusher if I had ever seen one. He also was black, which wouldn't have mattered if not for the fact I believed the PRT had sent him to question me specifically for it to prove if I was part of the Empire junior branch, going by how confrontational he had been at the beginning when I was the one who called them. Didn't it make them racist thinking I was Empire just because I was white?

"Okay, I just want you to clarify some things before you can go, alright?"

"Sure." Finally.

"You keep calling her Taylor, and you said she looked 'paler than usual', does that means you knew her from before?"

"I mean, kinda? We're not friends if that's what you're asking, and we don't really talk to each other in the halls or share classes, but she's somewhat famous between the sophomores."

"The school record marks her as a problematic student and an attention seeker, right?" I frowned, I must have expected something like that. It would be harder to turn this on the trio if the authorities had any reason to be distrustful of Taylor's version, but it could work on my favor if I spun it right. I could sick the PRT on Sophia's ass at the same time as I put in evidence the administration and gained some points with Taylor for backing her up. Well, that if she didn't accuse me of being an accomplice of the trio in her statement or something.

"Taylor? No, not at all. She's been bullied since ever, there are these... mean chicks that pull pranks on her all the time, this one called Sophia, and Emma Barnes, they feel queen bitches of the school, and the administration usually bends over for them for some reason?"

"There wasn't anything about this on her records..."

"Talk to anyone in the school, everyone has seen it, they're not exactly subtle about it." Hopefully, me talking would mean the rest of the school populance would be less reluctant to do so.

"... I think that would be all. Thank you for your time." He said, then he smiled, and shoked my hand.

"Any time officer," I said as I stood up from the chair, then I walked out of the unoccupied hospital room we had been using as an improvised interrogation room.

I needed to call home and tell mom I would be arriving late. I had control damage to run, because I was a fucking idiot.

* * *

As I walked down Lord street I considered the merits of going back home for my "costume". Now that operation "Made Taylor trigger as Skitter" had gone to shit I needed to up the stakes in the backup plans I had been laying for the past two years. Part of me wanted to believe that the plan was still salvageable, that somehow I would make it work. But it would be better to cut my losses earlier and seek an alternative.  
In the end, I decided it was easier to simply go to the Palanquin as a civilian instead of wasting time on the ski mask and the tattered cloak. My cape identity was a polite fiction as far as the Crew was concerned anyway.

It was late enough that the line to enter the club was fairly large already, and I catch more than a few of the people in it giving me bad looks as I passed them by in my way to the entrance, but I ignored them and simply walked to the bulky Hispanic man that served as doorman for the club.

"You lost kid?" He said while staring me down.

I arched an eyebrow, but he didn't relent, I knew he knew who I was. He wasn't especially close to Faultline's Crew, but he was trusted enough to be in the "in" about the secret identities of the members that could have them, and he had been there when I came the first time, seeking help from the parahuman mercenary.

"I came to see the Bosslady. Is she home?" I asked.

"Ugh, you kid are way to young to be here." He said, but he undid the chain fence anyway and I stepped through.  
The Palanquin was as full as any other night. Bodies rubbing on one another, music so loud it was throbbing inside my skull, and the strong scent of sweat all around me. It was honestly disgusting, but I ignored everything and went directly to the stairwell. Unlike outside, Pierce let me pass without any trouble.

"Blondie!, long time!" Said Newter as soon as he saw me, and Archive reacted with familiarity inside my head. Archive rarely reacted to anything I interacted with, but the sigth of the Crew always got to him. Sometimes it made us _(him)_ nervous, and others I couldn't make heads nor tails of the mess.

"Hey Newt!" I responded

The orange boy was lying on the floor withan expression of pure bliss plastered all over his face, with a girl in each arm, and some other bodies laying near them. "Care to join us?"

"No thanks." I looked at him again before continuing, "will Faultline be okay with you once she sees these girls, I know is not dangerous, but they will be out of it for an entire day or something like that, no?"  
Suddenly, Newter lost his cocky smile and sat in the floor looking around him with wariness. "Oh, boy, she's gonna kill me!"

I shocked my head at his antics and crossed the door to the hallway, then I kept walking until I reached the office. I knocked, and then I waited.

"Come in!" she said from inside, without any concern whatsoever about who could it be. Anyone that came so far inside the second floor was trusted to move freely around, or an enemy that at this ppoint would have made their prescence obvious.

I opened the door and stepped in. She was seated behind her desk, with her black hair as always neatly tied in a ponytail and a nice dress shirt, noticeable bags under her eyes. Having to administrate ten diferent cover businesses in adition to managing a mercenary team had to be exhausting.

"Hey Mel." I greeted, drawing a smile on my face.

"Damian, I didn't think I would see you, is a school night, right?" She asked, ignoring completely the nickname.

"Yeah, rough day, but I kinda need cash for something important, so I was hoping you would have something for me?"


	6. Friend 0A

Chapter six.

Alright, I actually had this one ready the day I said I would (i.e. the day after I published the last one. But I wasn't convinced, so I scraped it and worked a lot more on it. Then my semester at the university began, and as I'm actually studying Literature and Creative writing, all my creativity was sucked by my projects there. Then I came back to this and worked a little more over the past week or so. I'm not entirely convinced yet, but I think is better to get it out of the way before I can sit on it even more time.

Reviews: ...I honestly would appreciate the feedback.

Armsmaster leaped from his bike without slowing down. He hit the ground rolling, and ended his maneuver by ducking behind one of the wrecked cars along the street. As the automatic systems took charge of his ride and conducted it away from the confrontation, he took the time to contemplate the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

Facing Dauntless, the newest addition to the Protectorate forces in the city, was the merchant parahuman codename "Pusher". Brute three for his tough skin capable of resisting low caliber guns, Striker four for his ability to launch any object he touched in a parabolic arc of forty degrees, and Affront to the sight and all other senses seven for his rotten teeth, his horrible shit-tonality brown costume, and his physically debilitating stench. With a flick of his eyes, the jaw of his helmet shut close accompanied by a metallic clink. This time, he had come prepared.

"Pusher! Stand down and put your hands where I can see them!" He screamed to the criminal cape. Pusher turned around to face him but didn't let Dauntless completely left his vision. It seemed that as high as the cape was, he wasn't so out of it that he wouldn't be able to put up at least some fight, which incidentally explained why Dauntless hadn't been capable of taking him down before he somehow managed to wreck the whole street.

"That's _Motherfucker_ to ya', Dicksmaster!" Ah, yes. Pusher's elected name. Too bad PR didn't agree with him on the matter.

"Stand down, Pusher, I will not repeat it again!" He said while releasing the magnetic safe that kept his halberd attached to his back and discretely signaling Dauntless to attack.

Dauntless noticed his instruction and the distraction of the enemy cape and immediately tried to capitalize on it. With a flicker of blinding light, he teleported right beside the villain, swinging his Arclance as if it was a police baton, cracking with electricity. Pusher, however, reacted too quickly, evading the blow and returning one of his own, catching Dauntless on the gut and sending him flying away whit a pitying shriek, landing a twenty feet away with a heavy thud.

"You sucker, get off of me already!" Screamed Pusher, and Amrsmaster resisted the urge to sigh. How could someone so powerful be so incompetent?

With a twist of his arm, he pushed himself over the wrecked car that served him as cover, the enhancements inside his armor allowing him to realize a jump by far longer and higher than his human body could ever manage, landing just out of the reach of Pusher, already in an offensive stance and with his halberd pointed against his foe. That the head of his weapon was glowing with a far more controlled, far more effective current, was just a mere happenstance.

"You come for a piece of my shit too?!"

He refused to dignify that with an answer, so instead he responded by dodging the surprisingly technical blow o Pusher, following with a swift, methodical swing to the space between his ribs, delivering a discharge powerful enough to make the brute drop to the ground, already unconscious by the time his side hit the asphalt. After that, he simply dropped one of his confoam grenades over the Merchant to immobilize it until a PRT could come to retrieve him. He retracted again his halberd and strapped it to his armor, then he pressed one of the buttons in the side of his helmet, sending a signal to his bike to come back to him. Just like that, the confrontation was over and he could follow on his patrol. Dauntless was still getting back on his feet, groaning.

"Thanks for the save, Armsmaster, I'm still learning to move at those speeds, really makes me wanna throw up every time." He said, coming closer to him.

Armsmaster limited himself to nod.

He flickered his head, and with another _clink_ , the mandible of his helmet retracted once more "Report to console, keep Pusher secure until the troopers arrive, then resume your route." He said just as his bike came to a stop right by his side

"Ah, uh. Yeah, sure thing, boss."

As Armsmaster got on his bike, an alert popped on his hud. An incoming call from Miss Militia. He accepted the call with a flick of his eyes, trusting the automated sensors of his bike to keep his balance as he diverted his attention to his second on command.

"Militia."

"Armsmaster, sorry for interrupting, but we have some news on the Winslow incident."

"Go on," he prompted.

"The reports from the scene mostly confirm what we already knew. The contents of the locker of Ms. Hebert were let to fester approximately for a week. Today closer to seven thirty in the morning someone shoved her inside as part of what the school administration is calling a 'prank gone wrong.' Damian Hofstadter, sophomore in Winslow heard her when he arrived late at school and approached the locker.

When he realized someone was inside, he opened with a pair of tweezers he brings, and I quote, 'just in case,'" Armsmaster actually had to suppress a chuckle at the weirded out voice with which his colleague said that "and then he called us from his second phone."

"Second phone?"

"Hofstadter claimed the burned phone on the scene to be his, apparently, and I quote, 'it began ringing just before the smoke came out of the thing, so I threw it to the floor'. Forensics says the phone somehow received more data that it could manage and that toasted the circuit boards and basically everything else. They can't make heads or tails of how that could even happen, but we're almost certain it has to do with whatever it was that cut access to the local cell tower for thirty seconds.

Usually, we would suspect a Tinker, but that doesn't line up with the fast recuperation of Ms. Hebert anymore after you discarded the possibility of her being a parahuman."

"What's the current theory?"

"Parahuman involvement is undeniable, but the healing and the messing with technology imply there was more than one cape present. We're doing a background check to see if anyone involved has that kind of connections, or why such individuals would display this level of interest on Ms. Hebert, but we don't have anything concrete."

"And the culprits? I would have asked her myself, but I honestly got carried away going over the results of the tests." He asked. "I actually feel a little bad for how contrite I was with her. Do we already know who did it?"

"Ugh," Militia sighed, "that's another can of problems by itself. It would be better if we discussed it when you get back from patrol."

"Can't do, I have to go over the performance review of the NAR with Dragon when I get back to the rig."He said.

Militia seemed to doubt if she should tell him, but she relented at the end, "When we took the statement of the Hebert girl she pointed three girls as the principal culprits behind a long going campaign of bullying against her."

"The names?" Armsmaster already didn't like where this was going.

"The first two are unimportant, Madison Clements and Emma Barnes. The agent that questioned her says she implied heavy emphasis in the second name. The third, however, was Sophia Hess."

If it hadn't been for the automatic stabilizers installed in his bike, Armsmaster's vehicle might have drifted an inch to the left.

"Care to repeat that?"

"The third girl named in Ms. Hebert statement was Sophia Hess. We already have her in custody as a preventive measure"

"... I assume you verified she was telling the truth?"

"Hofstadter confirmed independently. Other students weren't nearly as cooperative when we questioned them initially, but after we mentioned the actual names instead of vague inquiries they were all falling one over the other to come forward with it, especially the ones we suspect of being accomplices in the campaign."

"Any chance it's a setup?"

"... There are rumors that Hofstadter runs with some of the Empire kids. But his record is clean of any previous troubles. And even if he fraternizes with some of them, it could be only a matter of seeking protection from the other gangs at the school. We both know Winslow is not all it should be.

"...We'll get to the bottom of this. If she's the one responsible, she will pay, if she's not, then we'll make whoever thought of framing her go down. Hard. Understood?"

"Understood."

"I can't reschedule the conference with Dragon, but I want you to arrange a meeting with Director Piggott first hour tomorrow.

"Yes, Armsmaster."

Militia closed the comms channel, and Armsmaster centered again his full attention on the road in front of him.

Great, now he would have to complete the rest of his patrol with his good humor gone.

Armsmaster sat in the reinforced chair of his workshop. He retired his helmet, and then accepted the solicitude for the videoconference. He would have gotten out of his Power armor as well, but the total shut down routine of the systems took around twenty minutes to complete, and that would have made him late.

As the virtual avatar of Dragon appeared in his monitor, he brought up the "suitcase" of the NAR system. It was, in truth, the hard drive where all the data produced by it was stored, in addition to an EMP shield, battery charger, protection case in case of falls, and a failsafe that would kill the device if it ever separated of him, his workshop or his bike by more than a hundred yards for more than a minute. Opening it, he connected it to his Computer, allowing all the data recollected to be transferred to the systems of his workshop.

"Armsmaster." Responded the kind voice of the Canadian Tinker. Thirteen years after he joined the Protectorate, Colin had been confronted with all kind of heroes, mediocre, bad, competent, and all around the spectrum between those. In all that time, however, he could count whit his fingers the number of heroes that truly deserved that title, who put their all on the job. Dragon was between such numbers.

"Did everything go well with the test?" She asked.

"It could have been more productive. Turned out the girl wasn't a parahuman, so the utility of the test was limited," he answered, sending her the data. Usually, he would be more reticent of sharing his work, but this project was his as much as Dragon's. "The girl had a Pollentia, but it was inactive as far as I can tell, so the data I got from it was limited."

"Oh?"

"You know is hard to detect the Gemma, but even her pollentia only showed partial activity, I would have confused it for a tumor if it wasn't for the readings indicating unusual tissue. At least we can confirm the sensibility of the NAR is working as intended."

"Maybe she was a tinker?"

"The test I conducted on kid win and myself showed background activity even during the sleep, as she was wide awake the readings should have been obvious, furthermore with my armor and the NAR in front of her, a simple glimpse should have fired the brain of a fresh Tinker like a fourth of July."

Dragon laughed at that. "Can't argue with you on that one. Was the drop significative?"

Colin lied back on his chair. This question merited more thought. "Your design certainly is impressive Dragon. There was a loss of twenty-four percent all around on the performance, seventy-five percent of it was due to the lower sensitivity of the nodes, but it's negligible at worst, especially considering the absence of tinker tech.

"Thank you Armsmaster, but it's all on you, your original design was just brilliant." She returned the compliment with a pleased tone.

In truth, Armsmaster didn't care all that much for pleasantries, if he thought Dragon's job to be any less than exemplary, he would have said so. His assessment was merely his sincere opinion. Dragon's reputation as the foremost Tinker in America wasn't undeserved in the least.

"A few more tests and it will be ready to send to the review board. Hopefully, they will dem the performance good enough to approve mass production."

"I certainly hope soo. I don't know down there, but here in Canada it would do a great deal to relieve the medical equipment budget of the Protectorate offices if we could replace all the machinery for this."

It certainly would be a waste. Unfortunately, there was precedent of the PRT vetoing this kind of projects before, claiming the initial costs of production and replacement of everything that would have to be changed to be too elevated Which wasn't complete bullshit, even if he desired he could claim it was.

"Let's hope." He said simply.

If the board rejected the NAR, he could still salvage some of the concepts and components developed for it to further other projects. The data generated by it would make a great starting point for his lie detector, and his predictive software would improve drastically if he could apply.

I would really appreciate the comment. As I've already said, I'm not a native English speaker, and although I consider I've been improving as of lately, your help would be immensely useful. And I know you're reading, the analytics say so!


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